Little Star
by Happyritas
Summary: "What made you like this?" Steve asked, "What are you?" The Thing laughed, "What made us this way? What gave you sunny hair and pale skin? What gave you blue eyes and shaped face? Human, you dare ask that question when you are more unnatural than us."
1. PART ONE

_"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_

 _How I wonder what you are!_

 _Up above the world so high,_

 _Like a diamond in the sky._

 _Twinkle, twinkle, little star,_

 _How I wonder what you are!"_

* * *

 **"Why do you fear me? We are one. Singing your silly song is futile and will not expel me from you, child."**

 **"At least, if you're with me, you can't hurt anyone else. I don't have to beat you, I only have to hide you."**


	2. the STARt

**Chapter One:**

Running around the city in the morning was a daily occurrence for Steve Rogers. It gave him something to do while he waited for the next mission or disaster to strike. He enjoyed running because it allowed him to really soak up the new, strange environment that he was dragged into.

Everything was different since the 1940s, but slowly he was beginning to understand the small details. Although he recognized a few Brooklyn's brownstones, complete relics of the past with the interior of the estate redone in order to fit modern needs, there weren't many landmarks that would bring him back in time. Most of the time, these proud houses stood strong and was a symbol of the wealthy. The brick exterior and elegant interiour expressed value at a price unable to be beaten.

Alternatively, there were a few unlucky brownstones where time had not been fortunate. They sat in their shame, ruined and dilapidated. Walls crumbling, various pieces of trash on the ground along with other questionable substances. Sometimes, these houses were redone in order to bring value in the area.

This one, however, was not.

It was in complete shambles, bricks crumbled and discarded on the ground, windows and unwanted openings boarded up. The sides of the house were graffitied terribly, expressing the faded markings of teenagers and gang signs over the decades. The yellow grass littered in various bottles or dirty syringes from past endeavours. Cigarrette butts stuck out over the overgrown yard and the gate leading in was broken. The front door, however, was partially opened and tilted on its hinges, its prescense ominous in a way that he didn't want to get himself involved with.

Steven Grant Rogers was in no way superstitious, but whenever he looked at the house, it's gaping maw of a door ready to consume him, he _admittedly_ ran a little faster. He wouldn't be surprised if the local kids had deemed the house as haunted or its steps bringing misfortune to whomever walked on it. Eventually, the city would get rid of it, a pricey house like that was a shame to have gone to waste, but they could reuse the land and build something newer and more modern.

So, one could understand the twisting horror Steve felt when he did his daily run and singing emerged from the house as he passed it.

Steve froze in his tracks, that couldn't have been. . . _singing_? Who was crazy enough to sing in a place like that? He listened closely for the lyrics, unconciously stepping over to the dreaded establishment.

 _". . . inkle. . . twinkle . . . little star. . ."_ The song was soft, the voice rattled and shaky. It sounded like it came straight from a horror film.

Steve would fit the requirements of a curious protagonist perfectly.

Despite every single particle in his enhanced body screeching at him to turn and keep running, Steve gave into his inflated hero complex and stepped closer. Maybe, he thought, it was a trick of the wind ( _which would've been even more unlikely than the ominous singing_ ). The second verse came shakily and hesitant.

" _H. . . how I. . . wonder_ _wha_ _wha_ _. . . what you. . . what you are. ._ ."

This merely confirmed his beliefs of someone being in the house. He walked over, moving the rusty gate, twisted and broken. It creaked on its hinges, and it felt like even the gate was warning him that it was a bad idea to enter the residence.

He ignored it because _Steve Rogers_ is _always_ supposed to be the hero. One of these days, he thought bitterly, his heroism will get him killed.

 _"Up. . . above the. . . the world. . . so. . . so high. . ."_

" _Hello_?" Steve called out once he reached the steps and could tap open the swinging door a little further. The house smelled disgusting a mixture of bodily fluids, mildew, rotting wood, probably the carcasses of a few dead animals, and drug residue.

He crinkled his nose, the smell alone was enough to knock a man out. But, he continued on, "Hello?" He stepped inside, and the floors creaked immediately underneath his weight. The wood floorboards were missing in some places, rotted in others. He saw a few rodents skittering near the walls, shadows moving to accommodate them as they hid from the intruder.

 _"Like. . . like a. . . diamond. . . diamond in. . . the sky. . ."_

"Who's there?" Steve called, stepping into the room, trying to avoid obvious piles of unsavoury. . . _scat_ , and the mice that scurried underfoot. He saw a trembling form near the side of the room. The shadows covered it, unable for him to get a clear look.

However, he could see it's eyes. They were wide and unblinking. Yellowed in the darkness, an unnatural colour as they stared straight through him. Chills swept down his back and he nearly left in that instant, wanting to scream and run. But he didn't, and continued to stare, shocked.

It opened it's mouth again, Steve half expected worms to fall out, completely fitting the horror movie trope. Instead, it sung. "Tw. . . twinkle, twinkle. . . little star. . . how. . . how I w–wonder. . . what you. . . are. . ."

Steve relaxed only a fraction. "Are you alright? Do you need help?" It didn't answer.

The buzz in his pocket made him jump, completely different from his surroundings that it scared him. He fished his phone out, half remembering how to turn it on. He squinted at the screen, the blue light shining in the unnaturally dark house. He had gotten a text message.

Steve glanced up, to make sure it was still there. It has began to sing the song over, each breath rattling in its lungs, "Twinkle. . . twinkle. . . little star. . ."

He looked down at his phone, there was a text message from Bucky.

 **Bucky B:** _where are you? usually back by now._

Steve hastily gave a reply, not wanting to take his eyes off the thing in the corner in case it disappeared.

 **Steve R:** _got held up. be back soon._

He was about to pocket the phone when he remembered that it also had a flashlight feature on it. It was so dark, he could see what exactly the unnatural thing was.

"I'm going to shine my flashlight, alright? Don't panic." If the thing heard him, it didn't say so. It continued to sing. He took this as a go ahead and pressed the button.

The thing ― the _child_ ― flinched, backing away. Steve stared at them, his mouth gaping. Claw marks surrounded the floor, creating deep groves in the rotted wood. Their hair was a matted mess, it was locked and had flecks of what could only be lice squirming through it. Their clothes were dirty, bugs crawling over and around them, their body frail. Their cheeks were hollowed, giving them a gait-like look of death and sorrow. Steve almost moved back in disgust, but then the child took another shaking breath.

"Like. . . a di—" A loud coughing rattled their lungs, and they gasped, trembling and terrified.

Steve moved closer, "It's okay, it's okay, just breathe."

They, in fact, _didn't_ breathe. They continued to sing desperately, despite the coughing, their nails clawing at the food. "Tw–Tw–Tw–Twi―"

Obviously, the kid needed help. Steve pulled out his phone, dialing 911. The dispatcher picked up on the second ring. _"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"_

"I need an ambulance, I have a child here, maybe six years old, serious breathing issues and they're not responding to anything. I think they may also have some sort of fever, and lice."

The dispatcher was silent for a minute. " _Where is your location, sir_?"

"We're in the old brownstone off on Start Street," Steve replied.

" _Alright, an ambulance will be with you shortly. I suggest not making any contact with the child in order to not risk infectious diseases, alright?"_

Steve hesitated, wanting to comfort the child, but agreed anyway. He stood, waiting for the ambulance to arrive while he waited near them, sending messages to the other Avengers about what was going on.

Eventually, the sirens wailed as they came down the street, and he looked up. They stopped in front of the house. First responders wearing hazmat suits stepped out, carrying a stretcher covered in plastic, probably to keep it sterilized. They entered the house, taking control of the situation.

One of the first responders tried to usher Steve to the ambulance so he could be taken to the hospital for decontamination, while another assisted the child. However, as soon as he laid a hand on them, they began to scream, singing their song at a higher pitch, but showing obvious discomfort.

They let go and the child sang in-between heavy breaths. "Tw. . . twin. . . twinkle. . . twin. . . twinkle. . ."

"Sedate them," one of them said and another nodded, pulling a needle from their belt, and coming to their side. They stuck it in her neck and waited.

For about five minutes, nothing happened. Then, the child stopped singing. They stared at the ground, lips moving but no words coming out. Panic spread across their features and they tried desperately to keep their drowsy eyes awake. This was the first time Steve had seen the child relay any kind of emotion.

They began to shake, clawing at the ground and shaking their head. Steve could read their lips, forming frantic words ranging from ' _the thing_ ' to ' _no no no'_ to ' _twinkle twinkle_ '.

Eventually, they slumped over, unconcious and shuddering. Steve finally left as the first responder did their jobs. He entered the vehicle, trying to process what he had seen.

* * *

After Steve had been completely decontaminated and Bucky was kind enough to bring him a fresh set of clothes, and something to eat as the situation was explained to him and the rest of the Avengers who were curious enough to come. That being, Tony, Bruce, Bucky, and Natasha. Clint was with his family for the week. After going through several back to back covert missions, the decision that he needed a break was unanimous.

Doctor Amari, the woman who was treating the child, called everyone together. She was a brown-skinned woman who wore a headscarf underneath her doctor's coat. She had dark eyes with bags underneath and greying hairs, probably from her many days working in a high-end hospital like this one. Despite this, she was a notoriously kind woman, well-known for treating all kinds of people, mutants and humans alike. She pushed for integration in her field, wanting to give health care and assistance to everyone and anyone who needed it. The hospital was one of the few in the state of New York that offered care to both humans and mutants.

"She has a very high fever, probably due to the malnutrition and subpar living environments," Doctor Amari announced, setting her clipboard aside to address the team. "Additionally, the rampant lice will be a little harder to get rid of since her hair is so locked and unmanageable that it would be simpler to. . . well, shave her head completely. It'll get rid of it faster and help with the rest of the sterilisation process."

"Have you been able to contact any family members?" Steve asked.

Doctor Amari shook her head sadly, "She has no identification at all. It's likely that she is an illegal immigrant ― she's some kind of mix, but it's also hard to completely identify her ethnicity. We're running her DNA, but it hasn't processed yet. It should be done within a day or two."

"What about the claw marks?" Steve asked, and she scrunched up her nose.

" _Claw marks_?" Tony repeated, not briefed on this.

"The floor around her was covered in claw marks, like an animal had mauled her," Steve explained.

"Yes, there are. . . ah, scratches on her body, mainly her arms and legs, but it's very likely that she had been attacked by a rabid animal. It's faded and older than any of her other injuries."

"Other injuries?" Natasha repeated.

"With the addition of her being sick, her nails were bleeding, probably from scratching at the floor around her. Her toenails also seem to be in the same condition."

Tony scoffed, "Torn nails? Random claw marks? She's beginning to sound a character straight out of _Twilight_."

Bruce rolled his eyes, "Steve said her eyes were yellow. Is that some form of jaundice?"

"Probably," Doctor Amari breathed a sigh. "There are so many things wrong with her, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Jaundice forms around the whites of your eyes," Bucky spoke up, frowning. "Steve said her _irises_ were yellow."

The woman shook her head, "Some kind of advanced form, then? We have a lot to get through with her ― starting with her fever and lice. She is lucky Mr. Rogers found her when he did ― she probably wouldn't have lasted another day in that _shack_." Doctor Amari sighed, shaking her head, "I have to get back now, there's a lot more to do, she won't be awake for a while."

"You're keeping her under?"

"Until the lice and is completely sterilised and then we'll take her off for the fever to break so we can administer antibiotics."

"Well, until then," Tony stood, stretching his legs. "I have to get to a meeting, contact me when she wakes up, I want to see the _werewolf rise_."

Natasha hit him on the arm and he gave a half-wave. "You should all go home," Doctor Amari commented, "It'll be a while until she wakes up. The faculty and I will keep her under close watch as well."

Steve was a bit hesitant. The girl was frail and obviously needing some kind of assistance, but at the same time, he wouldn't do her any good to be looming over her bed, waiting for her to wake. It wasn't fair to himself or to Bucky, who relied heavily on him.

Steve agreed with the doctor and collectively, the group went back to the Tower, anxiously awaiting for the girl to wake.

* * *

Nearly a week after taking the girl had broken her fever and was taken off of the anesthesia, did she show was signs of life. The Avengers got the news and Steve was asked to greet her after all the tests were done and they made sure her vitals were in a stable condition. The other Natasha and Tony came along as well while Bruce and Bucky decided to sit this one out.

Doctor Amari informed him that she had been awake awake for a while. She went back to singing her song as soon as she woke, and was completely unresponsive now. However, she had been sterilized, and Doctor Amari encouraged him to touch her on the hand or shoulder. Physical contact could encouraged her to speak up and relieve her anxiety.

"But," Doctor Amari continued, "Be prepared to stop if she shows signs of discomfort. If she continues be unresponsive, then we'll have to do a psychiatric evaluation."

"You think she's crazy?" Tony asked and Doctor Amari slid him a dry look.

"I think that something happened to her," Doctor Amari said, choosing her words carefully. "And this is her way of coping. Maybe the song was sung to her by a close relative, or she has some sort of mental illness and this is her way of dealing with it. Either way, she needs help, my job is to heal her physically, I can refer you to a friend who is a child psychiatrist."

"Okay, thank you, Doctor," Steve said, standing. He wanted to get the kid the help she needed as soon as possible. "If you could show me to her room."

"Yes, of course, follow me," she waved him behind her and began to walk. "She's under survellience, you two are welcome to stand by and watch in room B125."

"We'll do that, thank you," Natasha smiled and four parted.

Doctor Amari led Steve through the child-care branch of the major hospital. The wall were decorated in cartoon characters, teddy bears with tones of pastels. It was a lot more comforting and warm than the bleak, bland white walls of the rest of the hospital. Although, it still kept the obvious sterile scent and rubbing alcohol.

Doctor Amari showed him to a door and stepped aside. "If she starts to respond then ask simple questions, her name, age, et cetera, but throw in a few off-topic ones, what's her favourite colour, it'll keep her from pulling away and allow her to trust you more."

Steve nodded, "Yes, ma'am." He opened the door and stepped inside.


	3. the protoSTAR

**Chapter Two:**

The little girl's bedroom and her state of being were as different as black and white. The walls and decoration were the same pastel colours along with the bed's linens and curtains. It was soft and easy to see, adding a sense of security to the unfamiliar environment.

The rest wasn't so welcoming.

The girl was sitting up in the bed, wires and tubes connecting from her body to machines surrounding her. Granted, they too, were covered in stickers that welcomed the patient, but didn't quite hide the obvious fact that something was inherently wrong with her. And, you really didn't have to look at the machines to know it.

The girl had a ghoulish face, cheeks hollowed, and mouth muttering. She stared at the wall into nothing. Although the patient's garb hid it, you could tell she was malnourished, one could probably play her exposed ribs like a xylophone. Her fingers were curled around the thin blankets, her skeletal form trembling. She was frail enough to be blown away by a misplaced gust of wind.

The sharp contrast from the girl to the rest of the room was unsettling. The room was full of life while she seemed to be the embodiment of death. For a second time, Steve felt chills run down his spine in her presence. A part of him felt like something was wrong with her, besides the singing and fragility, but one look at the child told him otherwise. She wouldn't have the energy to get up to chase a fly, much less hurt it.

Steve cleared his throat - it didn't help her attention any, but it did provide a bit of noise to ease the tension in the room. "Hello there," he greeted, stepping forward carefully. The child's gaze did not waver from the spot on the wall where she stared. "I'm Steve, what's your name?"

"Up above the world so high. . . Like a diamond in the sky. . ." She sang to herself. Her yellow, almond shaped eyes were unblinking. Steve again got that sense of unease, but pushed it away.

"Can you give me a sign if you can hear me?" He waited for an answer and the girl stared at the wall, continuing to sing. Steve half expected her to stop her song and yell at him for the interruption.

Instead, she moved her hands. Steve stared as she continued to sing and placed a fist over her palm with the thumb up. Then, she raised it from her torso to her chest. Finally, she let her hands drop and slowly shifted her eyes from the wall to him.

The movement shocked him so much that he stared at her as well. The yellow, piercing eyes made him want to stop speaking with the child all together. The fact that she had willingly communicated and still not missed a beat in her chant-like song made his blood run ice cold.

He suddenly realized her movements, the thumbs-up on a palm. He racked his brain for the meaning in sign language. "Uh. . . _help_? Do you need help?"

The girl didn't answer, but she did, however, blink once. It was the first time he had seen the child blink since he entered the room. "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Just as slowly as before, the child moved her palm to face upwards. Then, she made an lowercase _h_ , keeping her palm flat up. Steve didn't recognize this sign at all.

"I'm sorry, I don't know that one." He felt terrible, if Clint were here now, he'd hit him upside the head with his bow. Clint didn't usually use sign language around the Tower, unless he didn't have his hearing aids in. Even when he didn't, he still spoke as he did it, or used familiar signs. The one this child was trying to express to him, he hasn't seen before.

Her blank eyes stared at him for a minute longer before finally peeling away to gaze at the wall behind him.

Steve moved forward, not wanting to lose the child while he was able to communicate. If she spelt it, he'd know. "Can you spell it out?" He asked, gaining no response. He stepped closer and she twitched. "Why do you need help?" Again, nothing. He was beginning to feel awful and wished he could call a translator in. He knew Natasha knew sign language and was probably swearing at him from behind a camera somewhere.

"Can you tell me your name?" He asked, carefully, but again got nothing.

". . . Little star. . . How I wonder what you are. . ."

"I can bring a translator in here you need it," Steve said, watching the girl watch the wall carefully. "They'll help me understand you. Would you like that?"

". . . World so high, like a diamond in the sky. . ."

"Do you have a mom or and dad, or someone who takes care of you?" No response, Steve was close enough to touch her, but he didn't want to scare her away. Was that twitch a suppressed flinch? It was so small, almost insignificant. He didn't think it could possible mean anything else.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. Finally, she moved her eyes from the wall again. "You want something to eat?" She moved a fist, the motion was nearly small enough to be missed. _Yes._

This was good, he could work with this. "Can you answer a few yes-or-no questions before that?" She didn't answer, and he frowned. "Would you be willing to talk to a translator or a doctor?" This gave another twitch from the girl. She moved her hands again.

This sign he knew. Two hands held in front of her with the fingers touching and then her left hand moving to form a one. " _Nobody_ ," he spoke, and scratched his head, "Why? We all want you to be safe. Is something―?" She did the sign he didn't recognize again, and he sighed. "Okay then, I'll be back, alright? Thank you."

"Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. . ."

Steve turned to leave the room, the hairs on the back of his neck pricking and his fingers itching to leave and slam the door shut. As soon as he stepped out of the room, he stepped over to a nurse who was writing on a clipboard.

"Pardon me, but is it possible to get a tray of food for the girl in room. . ." He thought for a moment, "C-118?"

The woman blushed hard, and nodded, "Uh, I believe Doctor Amari, ah, scheduled a lunch tray to be sent there, but I can double check for you."

"That would be great," he smiled at her and she practically swooned, turning around to grab the clipboard from the girls door with shaking fingers.

"Steve," Natasha called, striding down the hallway quickly. "The doctor wants to give the kid a break for now, someone else will bring the tray in."

"She said―"

"I know, not my call. Amari says the kid needs a break, too much stimulation will only do more harm than good, apparently." She motioned down the hall she came. "This way, we're talking in the security room." Natasha led Steve away, and down a few more pastel, coloured hallways.

They finally made it to the security room and Steve held the door open for her, stepping in behind her. The room was small with several screens illuminated in front of them. Some showed the hallways or main lobby, others unused bedrooms or sleeping children. It took Steve a minute to spot the girl's room. Her innocuous singing was almost audible despite the screens being deafened.

Tony had been talking with Doctor Amari, who looked exasperated and upset. "Thing could be a stand-in for something else," Doctor Amari was saying. "If she was abused, then she could call the abuser ' _Thing_ ' instead of their real name."

"Why not give them a proper title then?" Tony demanded, "Wouldn't a kid be more likely to call their abuser by their title, first name, or just using pronouns? _Thing_ is something completely different than any of those."

"How do you know that she wasn't referring to that?" Doctor Amari asked, crossing her arms.

Tony shrugged, " _Thing_ seems a lot more otherworldly, something completely disconnected from her."

"What's going on?" Steve asked, glancing between the two.

"The sign you didn't recognize, it means _Thing_ ," Natasha explained. "Essentially, she was saying, ' _Help. Thing_ ,' and then replied for nobody when you suggested a translator."

Steve rose an eyebrow, "You don't think she was referring to an abuser when she said _thing_ , Tony?"

"No, I don't," Tony crossed his arms. "Of all the signs used to identify an abuser, she uses _thing_? That makes no sense." Steve had to agree with the man.

"What do you think the _Thing_ is then?" Natasha asked, her tone musing, but she genuinely seemed interested in his point of view.

"Something else, the good doctor here said that she may have some kind of mental illness. It could be the voice in her head, or her imaginary friend, or something, I don't know."

"Or _werewolves_ ," Natasha scoffed, referencing his comment made the other day.

Tony grinned, "Or _werewolves_. It's too early to say anything. How did that DNA scan come, doc?"

"I had them redo it," she replied. "The test made no sense. She must've gotten some kind of animal fur in her mouth when they swabbed her."

"It came back with animal DNA?" Steve asked, a bit off-put.

"Not exactly," she made a face. "I don't have the information. From what I remember, it said she was African-European, with a mix of Latino, but then it―"

"Sorry to cut you off, Doctor," Natasha said, and directed everyone's attention to the screen. A nurse was entering the room, holding a tray of food. She was the same nurse Steve stopped outside her door, smiling and kind as she approached the girl.

The child looked directly at her, her yellow eyes staring and assessing, watching her every movement carefully. They didn't blink or shift away, it was unnatural.

The nurse came to her side, facing the camera. She was smiling and set the tray down on her lap. The girl twitched again, but continued her endless stare.

The nurse looked a bit uncomfortable, but she kept smiling happily, talking to the girl. Then, she touched the younger girls hand, patting it gently.

The girl stopped, moving her eyes from the woman's eyes to their touching fingers. Steve noticed her lips weren't moving either, and so did the nurse. Two seconds later, the girl realized what had happened and backed away, fear expressed on her face. Her lips mouthed ' _go back_ ', ' _no_ ', ' _keep singing_ ', and ' _the thing is coming_ '.

The four adults stared at the small, grainy screen, as slowly the child's face began to shift. She opened her mouth in a scream as extra flesh seemed to seep from her pores, forming around her jaw and underside of her chin. Her boned seemed to pop as she fell back and shook. Her shoulders widened, like an extending rod, and her spine arched. Ridges poked the back of her shirt where her bones cut against it. Her arms and legs shifted at the joints and she let out a silent cry. Blood was pouring from her mouth as long fangs forced their way through. Her nails curled on the bed and shredded the sheets.

The nurse, formally stunned, began to run, scrambling for the door and just managed to slip out before the beast, the _thing_ sprawled, trying to catch her.

Then, Steve began to move as well. Running down the hall towards the bedroom, Natasha and Tony right behind him. The nurse was outside the door, petrified and sobbing. Steve could hear the Thing growling inside.

He opened the door cautiously, allowing himself and Natasha to slip inside. Tony stayed out and tried to get into contact with the rest of the Avengers.

The Thing watched him with eerily intelligent eyes. Steve put a hand out, "Hey, hey, shh, calm down, it's okay, everything is going to be okay." The Thing watched him and narrowed its eyes.

" **We are calm** ," the Thing spoke, and Steve startled. Both him and Natasha stared at it as it prowled back and forth. " **We are safe now. We are calm. We do not need to go back,** ** _stop singing_**!" The voice of the thing sounded as if it had been swallowing rocks. It grated on his ears and made him want to turn and run out.

This thing was _unnatural_ , and he has never seen anything like it. It wasn't much bigger than the girl if she was on all fours, but it paid for it in how terrifying it looked.

The Thing was the beast of nightmares, the animal that lurked late in the night and hunted large prey. Its teeth were long and sharp and its claws weren't a job either. Its eyes, the way they watched you, wanting you, both unblinking and unsettling.

This Thing was the thing of nightmares and it needed to be put down.

Natasha reached for her belt, where her gun was holstered, and the Thing turned it's eyes to her. Suddenly, Steve felt like a weight was released from his shoulders and he could breathe again.

" **We are the Thing. We are the beast** ," it hissed.

"What made you like this?" Steve asked and the eyes were back on him. He heard Natasha inhale slightly when they moved. "What are you?"

The Thing laughed and stalked forward. " **What made us this way? What gave you sunny hair and pale skin? What gave you blue eyes and shaped face**?" Suddenly, the Thing leaped, knocking him to the ground. Natasha pulled her gun out, training it on it, but Steve rose his hands, not taking his eyes away.

The Thing breathed in his face, it was disgusting and spittle landed from his fangs and on his cheeks. " **What made us this way? Human, you dare ask that question when you are more unnatural than we are**." The Thing sniffed his neck and goosebumps raided his arms. " _Twinkle, twinkle little star_ ― **No**!"

The Thing fell off and landed on his side, moving to the corner of the room, growling and hissing. " **We have barely started! We need to feast! We can take these humans and run! Nobody will harm us anymore! We are the Thing! We are the beast! We. . . We. . .** ** _We_** _wonder what you are. . . Up above the world so high. . . Like a diamond in the sky. . . Twinkle twinkle little star. . . How I wonder what you are. . ._ "

As the girl, the Thing sung, it began to shrink in form. Steve listened as the joints disgustingly popped into the right places. The extra flesh fell off leaving chunks of it on the ground bleeding in its place. Its nails and teeth receded. The clothes, albeit ripped and stretched, fell back on her fragile frame. And, as always, she was singing.

"Tw. . . T. . . Twinkle. . . twinkle li-little st. . . st. . . star. . ." Natasha fired a sleep dart in her neck, putting her out of her misery.

They stared at the small child as she slumped over on her side, falling asleep. Steve, who was still on the ground, moved to get up when the door knocked into the back of his head.

Tony stepped in, staring at the scene. The torn bed, clawed up floors, steaming flesh pile with the child beside it, and Steve with small puncture marks on his chest.

Tony Stark had the audacity to smile. He gave a small, breathless chuckle and said, "I _called_ it."


End file.
